


Until Your Lungs Give Out

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, Dark Derek Hale, Dead Stiles Stilinski, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Killer Derek Hale, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Murdered by Hunters, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles Stilinski is a Bitten Werewolf, The Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), You Can Pry The Overuse Of Italics From My Cold Dead Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: Losing Stiles, losing his Stiles, was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. He could have dealt with any other catastrophe, if he had his beautiful, clever, amazing mate beside him. He would have shouldered anything else the universe threw at him, with a smile on his face, and love in his heart.But losing him?There was only one thing Derek could even stomach the thought of doing now that his mate was gone.Destroy what destroyed him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91





	Until Your Lungs Give Out

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. Hope everybody's doing alright.  
> This my first real attempt at writing serious angst, and hurt with no comfort. It is not a happy story. It kinda hurt to write, but I hope y'all enjoy. Title is from "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race" by FOB. Apologies in advance for any typos, because most of this was typed at 2AM.  
> WARNING: People are killed. It is violent. Namely, Stiles is killed and it is violent. Derek is not necessarily suicidal, but he doesn't care if he lives or dies. If any of these things do not float your boat, you may want to redirect yourself to one of my several other happier fics.  
> Alrighty, kiddos-- buckle up, cause this is gonna sting.

Derek lived in absolute agony. 

From his understanding, losing a mate wasn’t something many wolves could come back from. The pain, the anguish of having the love of their life ripped from their grasp drove them to insanity, or to death. Or both. 

Derek didn’t suppose he actually ever _did_ come back from it. 

Losing Stiles, losing _his_ Stiles, was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. He could have dealt with _any_ other catastrophe, if he had his beautiful, clever, _amazing_ mate beside him. He would have shouldered anything else the universe threw at him, with a smile on his face, and love in his heart. 

But losing him? 

There was only one thing Derek could even stomach the _thought_ of doing now that his mate was gone. 

_Destroy what destroyed him._

*** 

They had met young, and Derek honestly didn’t know if that made it better or worse. 

On the one hand, Derek had spent many wonderful, tender years with Stiles, ones that were tinted pink in his memory by how overwhelmingly _mated_ they were. 

On the other, the time they shared made the ache, the sting, the _pain_ of loss that much more present, that much more _there_. 

They had met while still in high school, both young and bright, with what should have been only the best of futures ahead of them. Derek hadn’t known they were mates at first, so he didn’t think much of it when he craved the time they spent together, simply content to be around Stiles, to be in his space. 

But then, Stiles got sick. 

He contracted a form of dementia, the same one which stole his mother from him. Derek had watched as he suffered for months, and had suffered along with him, desperately hanging onto the notion that Stiles could _make it out of this_ because he was _Stiles_ and so damn _stubborn_ and if anyone could do it, _he_ could. 

When it became devastatingly apparent that Stiles wasn’t getting better, Derek finally realized. That spark between them? What he had assumed was just him and his crush on one of his best friends, which had been ignored and hidden for fear it would ruin what was between them? 

It was nothing that could be chalked up to hormones and high school puppy love. 

It was a _mate_ _bond_ , because Stiles was _his_. 

From there, the course of action had been relatively easy-- they brought the Sheriff into the know (Stiles was already aware-- he’d figured it out _days_ after meeting Derek), Talia gave Stiles the bite to save his life (which it did), Derek and Stiles began to officially court each other. 

They were so in love, it hurt, in the best way possible. 

Content, Derek had felt as though the great puzzle pieces of his life were falling seamlessly into place, creating a picture where he and Stiles went on to live ultimately happy lives, with a family of their own, in a place they both called home. 

Which is, of course, when the Hale House was burned down. When nearly his _entire family_ , his _entire pack_ was murdered by Kate Argent, under her father’s command. 

Evidently, they didn’t appreciate the thought of a wolf- Derek’s uncle Peter, specifically- fucking around with their own blood, with one of the most promising youths in their clan. Even though Derek hadn’t known of Peter and Chris’ affair then, he knew now. 

He blamed now. 

Everyone, other than himself, Stiles, Laura, and a catatonic Peter, died that night. 

As did a piece of Derek, the bit of his soul that would reside in the grave with his mother, his father, his little sister. 

When Laura decided to gather them up close and run to New York, Derek didn’t protest. It seemed like a good idea to get what was left of the Hales somewhere else so they could mourn, and pick up their pieces. 

Stiles’ father had been hesitant, but eventually let him go. Derek wasn’t willing to leave him behind, Stiles wasn’t willing to let him, and Noah wasn’t willing to make them all stay with the ghosts of their massacred pack. 

They left, they mourned, they started over. 

He and Stiles graduated, both excellent students. They went to college in New York, with Derek going for linguistics, and Stiles choosing to get his degree in computer science. 

Had it not been for the deaths clinging to them both like smoke following a flame, it would’ve been perfect. It still nearly was. 

However, while Derek and Stiles had both been ready to move on, rebuild, Laura hadn’t been able to let it go. She swore, up and down, that the fire hadn’t been an accident. That something happened, that it was _hunters_. 

So, figuring that there was nothing to find, that she could just get it out of her system and come home, Derek and Stiles agreed to her trip back to Beacon, to investigate the fire. 

Derek still remembered how it felt when she died. 

_Derek wheezed, the snap of the pack bond in his chest feeling more like a bone breaking than a metaphysical representation of his alpha falling apart. He clutched at his chest, agony radiating through him._

_“Der, Der, it_ hurts _, it hurts so bad,” Stiles had cried out, tears streaming down his face_. 

They had held onto each other after that, tight, and unwilling to let go for anything. 

They both went back to Beacon Hills, to avenge their alpha, and finish what she started. 

Derek had thought they had a better shot at success with both of them there. 

Now he just wished he would’ve left Stiles home. 

***

They had been hunting the alpha for a little over a month when it happened. 

Derek and Stiles were on patrol through the preserve, protecting and defending what was technically their territory, the alpha be damned. 

They were finishing up their rounds, Stiles playfully tackling Derek and pinning him to trees, trading lazy kisses as they walked back to the Camaro. 

They had got in, started driving, and were bickering over what to pick up for dinner- _‘No, Stiles, we are not getting pizza again’_ \- when a nondescript SUV flew out of nowhere, ramming them off the road. The car rolled, tumbling down the street, with them both trapped inside. 

They didn’t even have time to scream. 

When Derek woke up, Stiles was gone, leaving nothing but the sour scent of Stiles’ fear, and the sharp tang of wolfsbane and silver in the air. 

After that, Derek- with the help of the Sheriff’s department- searched for him. He looked everywhere, attempted to track him, even tried to use their mate bond to find him. All he got was the reassurance that, at the very least, Stiles was still alive resonating in his chest like a second heartbeat. He refused to give up, _refused_ to lose his mate like he’d lost the rest of his family. 

Days later, the hunters left him a message, with the location of a meeting place and the time to be there. 

Logically? He knew he was being set up. 

Emotionally? He was too desperate to feel Stiles in his arms again to care. 

The note had said to come alone, and that if anyone came with him, Stiles would be killed. 

Thinking back, it really wouldn’t have mattered if he’d brought back-up with him-- either way, his mate ended up dead, and he was alone. 

*** 

The hunters had him go to the remains of the Hale House, just to rub salt into the countless wounds they’d given him. 

He’d arrived prompt, cold, ready. 

Kate Argent- who was pretty, in her own psychotic, mass murderer way- dragged Stiles out in front of him. 

She let him see his mate, his life, his love bound cruelly and injured. 

He had obviously been beaten, if his healing lip and the blood under his nose were anything to go by. His ankles and wrists were burned, from wolfsbane ropes. The rest of his body was covered in healing marks and open wounds and blood. 

So much _blood_. 

His wolf howled with rage, hungry for vengeance. He had bared his teeth, ready to take all of them on. Ready to kill every hunter in that room if it meant he’d get his mate back. 

Until a needle was shoved into the side of his throat while he was too busy being angry to pay attention. He slumped, knees buckling. He fell onto the floor, facing Stiles, watching the tears streak clean trails down his dirty face as he screamed desperately around the gag in his mouth. 

Yelling for them to leave Derek alone, to hurt him instead, to let Derek _go_. 

The hunters, seemingly happy to follow his direction, hauled him up from the floor. 

They cut him with silver knives. 

They poisoned him with wolfsbane. 

They prevented his shift with never-ending volts of electricity running through him. 

They shoved mistletoe down his throat. 

They shot him, for the hell of it. 

And in the end? They strung him up, and Derek met his mate’s gaze- helpless and hurting and _scared_ \- and watched, unable to do anything but cry, as they cut Stiles in half. 

Blood splattered harshly onto the floor as the bottom half of Stiles’ body hit the ground, coating part of Derek’s face. 

Kate had grinned, absolutely mad, at his pathetic whines, and the miserable howl he’d released when he felt the mate bond shatter. She had patted his shoulder, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and left. 

Derek _still_ , to this day, had no idea why she left him alive. 

Derek crawled slowly over to where they had severed the rope and let Stiles drop down by the rest of his body. He laid next to his mate’s corpse, sobbing out his name when there was no light in his glassy amber eyes, when there was no warm spike of joy and love in his cinnamon and storms scent. 

Derek’s mate was selfless. Derek’s mate was dead. 

*** 

Weeks later, Derek hardly functioned outside of planning his vengeance. 

They- he and Noah- had buried Stiles with the rest of his pack, and held his funeral. Kate and the rest of her hunters- regardless of how Noah wanted to be able to bring them to justice- walked free. 

Derek could feel his sanity slipping. 

The entirety of his focus went into finding out who the alpha was. Killing them, and taking their alpha spark, was his first step in ending the hunters. 

When he figured out that it was _Peter_ who killed his sister, _Peter_ who caused them all to come back here, _Peter_ who got his mate killed, _Peter_ who started _all_ of this back with the Hale Fire, he became ruthless, near bloodthirsty. He wanted him to feel just as much pain as Derek did, wanted to tear him apart for what he’d done and caused, even if it killed him. 

The lack of motivation to live made him sloppy, and he got himself caught again. 

Kate captured him, binding him up to a chain link fence under his childhood home and having her fun torturing him. 

She liked to hurt him physically, liked to see him writhe in agony and hear him scream. 

But her favorite thing? 

She liked to bring up Stiles. 

_“Miss your little mate?”_ She would always ask him. _“Miss him now that we’ve torn him in two? I mean, he was pretty before, but I’m not sure even_ you _could love only half of him_.” 

He would snarl, gnash his teeth, pull on his bindings until he was bleeding, wanting to get to her and make her _pay_. 

His escape took a pathetically long time-- he had to wait until the moon was full, and hold onto his anchor- _anger_ , so much anger- with a vice grip before he could break out. 

When he did, he went after Peter first. 

Or rather, Peter made a mistake by coming after him. 

Apparently, he had thought he could rescue Derek from the hunters and win him back. 

He probably didn’t think that anymore after Derek had sunk his teeth into his throat and ripped it out, feral and ruthless. 

The alpha spark flowing through him felt like freedom, felt like _justice_. 

When he finally got to Kate, he wrapped his claws around her throat and listened to her _beg_ for her life. 

Like he begged for Stiles.

She was dead before her body hit the ground, her neck nearly missing from her body, with most of it being splattered messily onto the wall before them. 

And Derek? 

He felt _good_ , for the first time since Stiles had been killed. 

Even though the feeling didn’t last, it was nice for the short period in which it existed. 

Noah- who was just as happy about Kate’s death as Derek, but also pleased he didn’t have to do it himself- helped him expose Kate for her role in his family’s death. 

Her orchestration of the fire was broadcasted through the whole of Beacon Hills, giving the public a bit of insight on who the Argents really were. 

It made the bloody, soulless bit of Derek smile. 

Later, Derek decided to move out of Noah’s house- much to his father-in-law’s disdain- and get his own place instead. He bought a loft, in the industrial part of town. It was in need of a little work, but spacious and easily fixed-up-- perfect for the alpha in him. 

Perfect for the pack he was going to need for the next step. 

He had come to the conclusion that he never wanted any wolf to experience what he did. He never wanted anyone else to have their lives, their packs, their families stolen from them by hunters who thought they had the right. 

So, he developed a pretty simple philosophy: nobody can be hurt by hunters if there aren’t any hunters to hurt them. 

It was a good, if not dangerous, goal in his eyes. 

Not that he cared about whether or not he died. 

Not now, anyways. 

Not when his mate wasn’t here with him. 

But, regardless of how willing he was to martyr himself for his mission, he’d still need a pack to do it. 

  
Which was the next step of the plan.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you all think? I was actually super nervous posting this, so please leave feedback if you can :) Comments and kudos are always appreciated.  
> Until next time!  
> \- Sins
> 
> Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


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